Stranded: The Aaron Hotchner Story
by Please.Insert.Name
Summary: For forty years they travelled through the desert... Okay, it was more like half an hour, but with Reid rabbiting on about everything under the sun, to Hotch it bloody well feels that long!


The. SUV. Had. Broken. Down.

In all his career the SUV had never, ever broken down let alone in the middle of a fucking desert! In some vain attempt, Hotch put the key once more into the ignition. Nothing.

It appears that the SUV would not start on belief, unlike all the kids films that Jack watched professed.

He really could use a fairy godmother right about now. Instead, all he had was Reid.

The agent was looking expectantly at Hotch, as if somehow he would hold all the answers to the universe, and through what could only be described as magic, get the vehicle to start again.

"It's not going to start," said Hotch, a resigned tone to his voice.

"Can you try again?" asked Reid.

"It never worked a few seconds ago, it won't work now," grumbled Hotch, the man possessed three doctorates and he asked that? Hotch reminded himself to look over the FBI admittance test again.

"What do we do?" asked Reid.

"Do you have cell phone reception?" Looking at his own cell, Hotch saw that it was now only useful as a calculator. Brilliant.

Spencer's answer was no different. Hotch was incredibly close to bashing his head on the window whilst screaming _'Why me? Why for God's sake me?'_But he was the Unit Chief, and regrettably if he broke down, then given Reid hadn't done many of the mandatory (mandatory for regular recruits anyway) training courses at the Academy, they would most likely die.

That was a comforting thought.

Then again, they hadn't thought to refill their water bottles before they left the witness's house, and he was pretty sure the Oasis he saw from the corner of his eye wasn't real.

Dying because of an empty water bottle. Yep, there were definitely better things to be carved on your gravestone.

"Reid, you have a doctorate in engineering, can you fix the engine?" asked Hotch, half hopeful, half thinking he was becoming delirious. Reid and mechanic sounded odd in a sentence together.

"Eh, no, I can't," confessed Reid, squirming in his chair slightly, "I never looked into car mechanics."

Spencer Reid, the man that knew everything, couldn't fix an engine. Was there any hope for the world?

So, it was either walk or cook like a Christmas turkey. He would take walking.

"I think there was a gas station about a mile up the road," said Hotch, clambering out of the SUV. They would leave everything behind, carrying it would just hinder them further, and they had done a pretty good job of that so far.

It seemed like a good idea at first, and then it slowly became a bad one. As the summer sun beat down on their backs, and sweat dripped down their foreheads, Hotch was reminded of a scene from the Bible. The only question that sprung from this wasn't 'Why am I thinking about the Bible?' but 'How the hell did the Israelites survive in a dessert for forty years?'

For some reason, he thought this was a good idea to voice it to Spencer.

"Well God gave them bread, and Moses the ability to get water from rocks. Their cloths never actually wore away, and their feet were never tired or sore as said in Nehemiah 9:12. However, there has never actually been any archaeological proof of this-" started Reid.

"Okay, God helped them, that's all I needed to know," interrupted Hotch, the heat was making him irritable, and apart from the various bushes and trees littered about the edge of the road, Reid was the only thing he could snap at without committing himself to a mental asylum.

Hotch wanted silence, Reid was incapable of maintaining it for any longer than five minutes.

Sometimes Hotch wanted duct tape to be a mandatory part of FBI equipment.

After he had heard the lifecycle of the common toad, how many ways to get water from the environment in a dessert, and how animals adapted for dessert life, they mercifully saw the gas station.

"So anyway, the desert rat only comes out at night to avoid the heat of the day, it's urine is highly concentrated to prevent loss of water... is that the station?"

It took Hotch a few moments to realise that 'the station' wasn't part of the desert rat's anatomy. Moving towards the building, Hotch felt himself be swept up by a huge wave of relief. Touching the gas pump, his fingers met metal. It wasn't a mirage. Thank fucking God for that!

Rummaging in his pockets, Hotch was fully intent on buying as many bottles of water as the human body could possibly consume. However, it wasn't there. It wasn't in any of his pockets.

There was no way he had left it in the SUV.

A full body search later, and he concluded he had indeed left it in the SUV.

As he watched Reid gulp down what had to be a gallon of water, he wondered if his glare would kill him.

Then he could have _his_ water.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was a gift for YaoiMonster, they picked the characters, and this is what my mind came up with... I am now becoming scared of my psyche. I hope you liked this, and it isn't a massive dissapointment - believe me, this is the fourth attempt I've done O.o_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds, but I do own Hotch, he's tied to my bed *cackles*_

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes._

_Please Review!_


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